A/N; Oh boy this is tough. Dx
I feel extremely stupid for trying to take this on. BUT… Now that I've started, might as well try to get to the end. =P
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The endless sand dunes rolled on and on, lacking any color besides their dull pale color. After a few days, Arya had gotten over her excitement of leaving Du Weldenvarden and had begun to wish for a splash of fresh green from a flower to meet her gaze, but all she ever saw was the pallid sand.
"Brom, may I make an inquiry?" Arya asked, trying to rid herself of the thoughts of boredom. Silently, she reprimanded herself for even beginning to think the slightest bit about being bored—she, out of all people, was leaving her home for the first time to become a representative for her race. If that was not good enough to have the term 'exciting' labeled on it… well, Arya did not quite know what was.
"Mmm?" was Brom's answer. Arya had noticed that with the passing of the days, Brom had seemed to tone down a bit, only speaking when necessary. Still, she thought nothing much of it as she proceeded to ask her question.
"Where were you during the Fall of the Riders?" she asked, tilting her head to the side so as to get a view of the human man seated on his horse. Though he managed to hide it considerably well, Arya still caught sight of Brom stiffening, and was instantly alarmed at this fact. She was even more startled at his answer, however.
"That, Arya Drottingu, is a story for another time," Brom stated shortly, clenching and unclenching his fists around the reins of his horse, which was a dry brown color, much different from the horses that carried the three elves—since, after all, Brom's horse was human bred.
Surprised at the change in Brom's formerly pleasant demeanor, Arya fell quiet, looking straight ahead—with the few added interruptions in her gaze as she stole a few glances in the direction of Brom.
Faolin, as well, seemed rather confused with Brom, though he also did not pursue any more questions. He seemed to resign well to his fate: simply following his princess, accompanied by a strange elf and a moody old man. Different from his dreams of glory when he was younger, but nonetheless true.
Glenwing, however, appeared undaunted by the turn of Brom's temperament. Contrary to the silence that befell the other three he was traveling with, Glenwing began humming quietly to himself. Sooner or later, however, this humming turned in to a full melody that Glenwing sung, his voice rising and falling with the notes that fell in line perfectly underneath his voice.
Arya's reaction to this was one of her rare, full smiles. Even though she did not speak aloud, she was sure that the smile on her face told the others what she thought about Glenwing's singing. It truly was enchanting; it was like a substitute to the pure voices of the birds in the forest.
Glenwing's expression changed to one of pure delight as his face was lightened with a grin, a grin that was similar to the one on Faolin's face as well. Only Brom remained the way he was, stolid and emotionless, his only movement the even breathing in his chest, as well as the rise and fall of his frame as the horse underneath him moved at a brisk pace.
After a while of riding, and when Glenwing's throat tired of singing, the four of them halted and made camp. Fire was no problem for them as the elves all beheld knowledge of magic, and even Brom proved to know quite a bit. The real nuisance, however, was the sand that endlessly got blown around by the harsh gust of winds that were infrequent during the day—though that had nothing to do with how hard the winds could hit when they did.
The four of them sat around the campfire, staring endlessly in to the flames that licked the desert floor. To those who were not familiar with the usage of magic, the fire would have proved quite the specimen, though it was normal to all of them.
They consumed a simple meal of dried fruits and vegetables along with bread—a meal that even Brom had. It was rather odd for Brom to do so, as he was human and most humans seemed to favor their meat… But Brom struck Arya as the type of person not classified underneath 'most humans,' so she was not particularly surprised.
After dinner, the four of them once more sat around the campfire, not moving or doing anything. Finally, Arya had had enough sitting still, even though she knew she had the ability to remain still for a good deal longer.
"Glenwing?" she asked, speaking to the dark-haired elf that was waving his finger in the air as if composing a new piece of music. She had to repeat his name a couple of more times, but she eventually got his attention. Once she did so, she went on to ask, "Would it be possible for you to offer more music?"
Glenwing's face suddenly darkened, and Arya frowned. Had she said something wrong?
"I am sorry, Arya, but I am not a pet lark. I cannot sing on command; I only do so when I feel the music within me," Glenwing answered in an apologetic tone, bowing his head.
Arya couldn't help but smile slightly at Glenwing's response. "That is all right, Glenwing," she murmured in a relatively soothing tone, touching his shoulder lightly.
"But," Glenwing suddenly said, jerking his head up. "There is music within." At this prospect, the male elf brightened and leapt up. He opened his mouth, and from it emitted a brilliant tune.
It was an upbeat sounding melody, and Arya felt somewhat compelled to dance, though she was not quite sure how to without appearing the part of a fool. Letting the music wash over her for a few moments, she decided to act on impulse.
Spreading her gaze across their small encampment, her eyes fell upon Brom, who was still icy in his demeanor. His arms were crossed, and he was still staring in to the flames.
She then glanced at Faolin, who was looking thoughtfully up at the sky, listening to Glenwing.
It was at that moment when she figured out who needed a bout of happiness the most.
Darting over to him in a matter of a few steps, Arya grasped Brom's hand firmly and pulled him after her as she led him in to some sort of dance that she came up with last minute. It was nothing serious, just a few gracefully made movements that Brom, in order to not fall flat on his face, was required to copy.
At this notion, Glenwing laughed like a child. It was that laugh that caused Arya to let go of Brom's hand and to execute a flurry of motions, twirling around and leaping about as she had done when she was younger. She knew that all three of her companions were looking at her, yet she didn't quite care.
Brom stared at Arya, raising his eyebrows in a manner of astonishment. He had never, ever since he had met her, thought that she was capable of such… such… joy. It was as if she were acting upon the instincts drawn from her childhood, and, in truth, Arya was. A sense of awe enveloped Brom as he watched Arya's figure dancing, her raven black hair billowing out behind her in graceful curtains. Her steps were carried out with such a feeling of eloquence that Brom found himself holding his breath.
Finally, Brom managed to regain control over his awestruck state. Moving his gaze, he focused on Faolin, who appeared as enthralled as Brom had felt. Studying the male elf carefully, Brom noticed a particular feeling radiating from Faolin. He picked it up from a few signs, but the one that gave the most away were the eyes. Silvery gray, they were—a cool color—yet they betrayed an enormous amount of emotion.
The most prominent emotion was one of longing fueled by what seemed to be a never-ending passion. Intrigued, Brom pressed further in his attempts to read what the male elf was thinking and feeling.
Faolin's slightly parted lips gave Brom the conception that the elf was suffering from a high level of enchantment—and Brom couldn't blame him.
Somehow, Brom got the idea that Faolin was experiencing one of the most excruciating pains of the heart possible: wanting someone who was futile to want.
I can relate to that, Brom thought to himself dejectedly, and he heaved a sigh that came out louder than he had wished for it to.
Hearing a sigh uttered from Brom, Arya immediately stopped to a halt with a final twirl. She raised her eyes, and after a matter of seconds, Faolin's gray gaze swept them up in to a head-on glance.
"Arya," Faolin choked out softly, and for those few instants, nothing else mattered. The world itself seemed to have stopped, frozen in time. All that hung in the air was the sound of his voice saying Arya's name, and all that truly concerned him was trying to understand the depths of her viridian colored eyes.
Snapping back in to reality, Faolin noticed how close they were, their hands touching lightly.
Almost as if in a synchronized motion, both Faolin and Arya leapt apart from each other.
Awkwardly, Arya eased herself down on to the sandy ground, not daring to meet Faolin's eyes. Faolin followed Arya's motion of sitting down, though he continuously stole glances at her, hoping that she would look up. As he was shifting his gaze from her to another place once more, he by accident met Brom's intense look of sternness. Wincing, Faolin looked away.
Glenwing appeared unperturbed about the whole entire thing, though it could not be known for sure what the elf was thinking to himself.
After a few moments of silence—as Glenwing, too, had fallen quiet—Glenwing began to sing once more.
A plaintive, melancholy melody rose up over the desert plains.